Note: This is a seattlepi.com reader blog. It is not written or edited by the P-I. The authors are solely responsible for content. E-mail us at newmedia@seattlepi.com if you consider a post inappropriate.

After The Tower, Miles got them to Willoughby, Texas and Juliet’s father, 7th Heaven‘s Rev. Camden. Everything I know about that show comes from TWoP recaps and the scandale! of Jessica Biel’s 2000 Gear photo shoot. She was like the Miley of the ‘aughts. That seems so quaint now. Anyhoo, Miles didn’t know if Rev. Dr. Camden still lived there or was even still alive – but there was no place else to go. Juliet was practically catatonic. “It’s all my fault, Dad. The bombs … I broke everything.”

Six months later, and Miles is still a bit broken himself. The door to a small shed on the edge of a field flies open and Miles stumbles backwards into the night. The left side of his face and neck are splattered with blood. His left hand is thick with it. I’m pretty sure he’s just beaten someone to death. I hope it’s not his barber, because that cut is doing him more favors than last season’s shag ever did. We don’t see who or what is in the shed, because Miles then burns it down.

Charlie only stuck around for two months before making her way to the Plains Nation where hair care products are in short supply. Miles didn’t try to stop her – he knew he couldn’t – but he did send her off with a plea to “try and keep your stupid to a minimum.” Hah! Good luck with that. Of the four, Aaron seems the most content. He went back to teaching and moved in with a sweet girl, Cynthia. In his spare time, he broods over the Pyramid Pendant of Power and wonders why every firefly in America has decided to congregate in his backyard.

Miles walks through the town gates, all evidence of the night’s violence gone. Although he could do me a solid by throwing a few punches at the guy rocking out to Rush in the middle of the street. Juliet is tending to a patient in her father’s clinic. She dabs fresh aloe on the months old, still healing burn on his shoulder. He was 30 miles from Atlanta when the bomb dropped. The nylon of his jacket melted to his skin. “Sergeant Neil Gibson, Georgia Federation. Retired.” RevCam has a concerned and tries to call her off, but Juliet needs to know. What’s it like back East? Sgt. Gibson confirms that Atlanta and Philadelphia are gone. Dead zones because of the fallout. He says the troops that are left are just kind of … wandering. The only fighting they’re doing is to stay alive. I imagine at some point wandering become walking and then you have a zombie show that I’m told is outstanding, but that I had to turn off 20 minutes into the pilot because I got scared, so.

Juliet says goodnight as RevCam stitches up the gash in Miles’ hand. It was a dumb accident. He was ‘slicing’ an ‘apple.’ The doctor doesn’t question the lie. He’s grateful to Miles for bringing his daughter home, but he would just as soon see the back of him. He explains that Rachel has always had a “finely tuned compass for the wrong guy. Pot dealers. Drummers. My favorite one carried throwing stars, like a ninja.” Then she met Ben, and great was this father’s relief … until he went to the wedding and saw the way she looked at Miles. “She’s getting better now. Better, every day. The last thing [she] needs is the wrong guy …”

Eric Kripke has heard your complaints that everyone is too shiny and clean in the power-free future. Charlie’s lackluster locks are his reply. What the Plains Nation lacks in salon quality products, it makes up for in hooch joints with Black Sabbath-covering bluegrass bands and chatty bartenders. Jeff – it’s Jeff, right? – is regaling Charlie with his ‘where were you during the Surge’ story. For four precious minutes, the jukebox in the corner played “Ramble On.” “People cried. They said it … they said it was like hearing the voice of God.”

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Charlie doesn’t really care to talk. The only surge she’s interested in is the one in Jeff’s pantaloons. Whither Nason? He’s with his father looking for Lady MacNeville. The Savannah refugee camp is a sprawl of camp fires and tents as far as the eye can see. The Major comes to the painful realization that they’re not going to find her. She would never have left Atlanta. She would have waited for him to come home. Neville racks his pistol and tells Nason to get out. His son smacks him across the face. He’s Gus Fring! He’s going to straighten his tie and sack up! Their confrontation is ended by a shout from outside the tent. They join a throng of people on the river bank and watch as a tall ship sails into view. It’s flying the stars and stripes.

Secretary Allenford represents the United States Government in exile. When they learned that Monroe and President Bauer launched the nukes, they knew that they had to return and offer their help. Standing in the crowd, Nason and Neville are all, what in the who now? Allenford assures the people that the president is alive and making his way to the White House as they speak. She leaves out the part where the advance team is hard at work assembling human sized cages in the basement. She extends an open invitation to rejoin the United States. They’re patriots. They want this nation to be great again. Neville is barely containing his rage aneurysm. But at least it gives him purpose. They’re the ones responsible for the nukes. They’re responsible for Lady MacNeville’s death. “I am going to rip them apart from the inside until they are begging me to die.” Bring. It. ON.

Jeff makes Charlie breakfast and notes her militia brand. He spent a few years conscripted himself. He even saw General Monroe himself just a few weeks earlier. At the mention of the name, Charlie is instantly alert and focused. She tracks him to New Las Vegas. It too is lousy with wandering, folksy classic rock cover bands. 15 years and no one figured out how to make a steam powered Marshall stack? She slows as she passes the tent where David Schwimmer, the last surviving Friend, is performing, but a roar from another tent catches her attention. General Monroe is inside getting his Tyler Durden on. The first rule of Fight Club is, you do not talk about how hot Sebastian suddenly is. Charlie stalks him through the crowd and pays his promoter in diamonds for a personal meet and greet. It’s a waste of good bling. Monroe is jumped and spirited out of town before she can put an arrow in him.

Miles takes RevCam’s hint. By way of goodbye, he gently tells Juliet that “bad things happen when we’re together.” He’s gone barely a day. He comes back to town with a body slung across his saddle. Sheriff Mason, the always awesome Adam Beach, thinks it’s just another bandit. The town has dealt with them before. Miles points at the hatch marks – some old, some fresh – carved into the dead man’s arm. They represent how many people he’s killed. He’s a reaver. Miles thinks they should run. Juliet won’t leave. She has to be here when Charlie gets back. They blah blah about feelings and regrets when they SHOULD BE KEEPING WATCH FOR REAVERS. They mostly come at night. Mostly. A small band slips through a breach in the city walls. One of them comes for Cynthia. Aaron puts up a decent fight, but you don’t bring a baseball bat to a sword fight. The reaver slashes him across the chest and Aaron goes down. Miles pursues, and together with Sheriff Mason, they take down the raiders … only to be surrounded and captured by the much larger party lurking in the dark. They’re led into the camp, past two bodies still hanging from their gibbets. Sheriff Mason has a strangely calm, almost bored, look on his face. He’s all like, I’m Adam Beach and this ain’t even my whole day. They’re warmly greeted by Steve Newlin’s older brother, Titus Andover. He offers them some sweet tea. Welcome to his family.

Cynthia fetches RevCam, but it’s too late. Aaron has lost too much blood. He dies. Wait, WHAT? AARON DIES? OH, COME ON KRIPKE! SERIOUSLY?? *sigh* Cynthia stands on the porch, crying, and watching the fireflies. Juliet sits alone by Aaron’s body. And then he opens his eyes and takes a deep gasping breath.

Note: This is a seattlepi.com reader blog. It is not written or edited by the P-I. The authors are solely responsible for content. E-mail us at newmedia@seattlepi.com if you consider a post inappropriate.